


Fries With That?

by Setkia



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: AU, Bisexual Harvey Specter, Bisexual Mike Ross, Flirty Mike Ross, Harvey's a CIA agent, M/M, Mike is really messed up okay?, Mike works at McDonald's, Mike's a stoner, Recreational Drug Use, Suspense, he needs help, implied Mike Ross/Trevor Evans, random idea turned into this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: “What’s the least heart-attack inducing thing you’ve got?”“Excuse me?”In which Mike works at Starbucks, McDonald’s and sells test answers to pay his grandmother’s private care home bills and Harvey is an undercover CIA agent who has to stake out at McDonald’s to catch a bomber.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should not be writing this story simply because I saw like 6 episodes of Suits, then stopped. I recently started reading Suits fanfic (another thing I shouldn't have done) and this idea was an original idea but then I was like, "Mike and Harvey!" so this is what happened. I don't expect anyone to really like it, or to tell me they're in character. I'll try, but it's really AU. I've never seen past season 1 so .... yeah this won't be good. I don't own Suits. The whole story is planned and all, so not too much suspense. Alternating POV, starts with Mike on odd # chapters, Harvey on even. Chapters are going to get longer.

Mike really hates himself some days. Today happens to be one of those days.

The moment he opens his eyes and stares at the plain white ceiling of his apartment he needs a joint. It’s a bad habit, he knows it is and it’s not attractive, which may be one of the reasons he hasn’t gotten laid in so long, though it could also be because of his insanely busy schedule. His busy schedule that, if he takes too long thinking about, he’ll be behind on.

He gets dressed and goes to Starbucks, runs behind the counter and greets the first customer with a fake smile. It’s going to be a long day, he already knows it. He spells the woman’s name correctly and she smiles at him. It almost makes it worth it. Except not really.

During his break, he sits in the corner of the coffee shop and answers the rest of the questions on the calculus test. It’s a pretty simple test, even if it is for an AP class. He finishes it and by the time he’s done, he has to get moving again.

He meets his customer a couple of blocks away from Harvard before he hands him the completed test and pockets his money. It’s less than he figures he deserves, but he if he gets picky, he won’t have time for lunch.

* * *

 Mike enters the old age home and he feels sick to his stomach. It’s not the old people smell that he dislikes, it’s the feeling of guilt in his stomach. His grandmother who he needs to look after, pay her bills, he’s sure she wonders how he gets the money he does for her care. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her, aside from the fact that he thinks she may have a heart attack if he ever told her what he did.

“Michael!” she says, a large grin spreading across her face. It makes her look younger than she is, and it brings a smile to his face. “How is my favorite grandson?”

“I’m your only grandson,” he reminds her with a smile.

“Technicalities. Tell me, have you found a girl yet?”

“You know I haven’t, Gran.”

“I’m not getting any younger, you know,” she says. “You’re a handsome young man, you’re a good catch for anyone.”

“I think you’re just a tad biased,” Mike says but his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. It really makes the long days worth it.

“No girl then?”

“None.”

“What about a boy then?”

Mike turns his head and looks behind him. He’s surrounded by elderly people, people who are not always the most progressive. “Gran!”

“You know I don’t care who you love, don’t you? And don’t tell me you didn’t try it a bit with that old friend of yours … oh, what was his name again?”

“Trevor?”

They had been young, experimenting. Trevor had decided it wasn’t for him, Mike had decided he hadn’t minded it. He still speaks to Trevor every now and then, but ever since Mike refused to sell his pot, they had gone their separate ways. Mike felt bad for Jenny, she didn’t deserve a douche like Trevor, but it wasn’t his place to say anything.

“We weren’t really anything,” Mike says. “I’m too busy anyway to really think about a relationship,” He fidgets with his hands, refusing to also mention that he’s too busy because of all the jobs he works, trying to pay the costs of his grandmother’s housing. He doesn’t want her to feel guilty, he knows her, she’d blame herself for how hard he works, but he doesn’t want that on her conscience, that’s all on him.

“You know it’s fine, don’t you, Michael?” she asks gently. “Whatever you want, whoever you love.”

“I don’t love anyone besides you,” Mike says honestly.

She ruffles his hair and smiles. “Come and visit me again next week?”

“Always.”

He leaves and finds himself able to deal with his day a little bit better.

* * *

There’s a man sitting in the corner of the room. He hasn’t ordered anything and he’s been there for the whole day. Or at least, since Mike’s started his shift. Now dressed in the appropriate red uniform, he takes a deep breath and clears his throat. It’s been a long day, he’s getting snippy, so sue him.

“Are you going to order something, sir?” he asks, raising his voice.

The man doesn’t bother looking around, he knows he’s the only one in the building. He sits up taller and rolls his eyes. “Does it look like I’m going to order?”

“If you want to stay in the building, you have to be a client. By not ordering, that makes you a non-client, and thus, a loiterer.”

The man stands up from his chair across the room and comes to a stop in front of Mike. “What’s the least heart-attack inducing thing you’ve got?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” says the man. “Do I need to be clearer?”

“We have salad-”

“I don’t trust your food.”

“Then why are you here?”

The man eyes the menu. Mike takes in his appearance. He’s tall, moderately so. He’s got nice hair that’s been styled, a suit that looks like he comes from money, and a birthmark (?) above his left eyebrow. He looks good. If Mike had the time, he may fantasize about him, but he really can’t afford to lose time thinking about him. His voice is pleasant as well though, even if it is curt and sharp. “Hmm… I’ll have what she’s having.”

Mike raises an eyebrow in surprise. “A salad with Caesar dressing on the side it is,” he says. “Want fries with that?”

The man’s mouth quirks up slightly. “That’ll be all.”

“Have a nice day.”

Another long day has gone by and as always, Mike goes home, lights up a joint and waits until his exhaustion takes over.


	2. Harvey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, and I know it's short ... I wrote it ahead of time and then forgot to update! Then exams happened. Sorry again!

Harvey hates his job sometimes. He really wishes he could’ve stayed in corporate law, but eventually Jessica got tired of putting her ass on the line for him. Then again, in a line of work like this his uncaring attitude doesn’t really matter. He can be as heartless as he wants to be.

He can’t believe that out of all places he’s been stationed, it’s at a McDonald’s. He gets that he’s a rookie, but that doesn’t mean he has to sit in a greasy, twenty-four hour fast-food joint that makes him nauseous.  It’s been way too long in this dingy place and Harvey just wants to go home and sleep.

“Are you going to order something, sir?”

Harvey rolls his eyes. The employee behind the counter is small, he’s got light brown hair, sort of blondish, and he looks almost as bored as Harvey feels. They’ve both had long days it appears. “Does it look like I’m going to order?”

“If you want to stay in the building, you have to be a client. By not ordering, that makes you a non-client, and thus, a loiterer.”

Harvey stands up. He supposes that’s true, he should order, otherwise he’ll look too suspicious. He walks up to the cashier.  “What’s the least heart-attack inducing thing you’ve got?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Harvey says. He doesn’t have time for games. “Do I need to be clearer?”

“We have salad-”

“I don’t trust your food.”

“Then why are you here?”

Harvey looks over the menu. Everything makes him shudder, he doesn’t want to put chemicals like those into his body. It’d be gross and counterproductive considering that he works out every morning. “Hmmm …I’ll have what she’s having.”

To his surprise, the boy reacts. He doesn’t look like he’s old enough to understand that reference.

. “A salad with Caesar dressing on the side it is,” he says dryly and Harvey has to stop himself from smiling at that. “Want fries with that?”

Harvey knows he’s failed at keeping his amusement a secret. “That’ll be all.”

“Have a nice day.”

Harvey leaves. He doesn’t intend on eating the salad, it’s gross and he can eat anything he wants, he can get expensive sushi if he wants, he can get himself a steak, but he decides he paid for it, he may as well have the salad.

It tastes gross and he hates it, but that’s why he works out every morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who commented: Beautiful Tendencies, and mychemicalklaine!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own Suits, found the file, so sorry .... Yeah, this just shows how terrible I am at updating. But I guess I'll be doing monthly updates? I think I can commit to that.

Mike’s eyes settle on a man in the corner of the fast-food restaurant, his eyes heavily concentrated on his computer screen.

_You’re a university student, finishing up a last-minute report that’s probably worth about 30% of your grade. You thought you had time to do it before class, but you were wrong and it’s going to be due in less than twelve hours._

He spots a woman trying to get apple juice out of her hair, thanks to one of her sons being over-enthusiastic whilst drinking.

_You’re a single mother, working two, maybe three jobs. Your husband left you because of a dispute over the real identity of the father. You drive a silver car, probably the kind of car someone in a mid-life crisis would drive._

The man sitting near the window with thousands of napkins around him looks beyond frustrated.

_You’re a rookie-writer, and you’re trying to finish up the plot of a book and get it published so you can prove to your girlfriend that you will become something and also to shove it in your father’s face, who told you you couldn’t make it._

Suddenly the door opens and in walks the man from the night before.

Mike thinks hard.

_You’re … you’re rich, you have money. What do you do? You could be a lawyer, or a doctor, but doctors … doctors don’t really wear business suits. Maybe a teacher? A university professor of philosophy or something like that? You’re single … no, married? Only child? Maybe not? You get your suits made by someone though, that’s for sure. Graduated from a mini-ivy? Probably not from around here._

Mike can’t place him. He tries and tries and he’s pretty certain he’s drilling a hole into the man’s brain, but he can’t figure out what it is he does. By the time the man has been sitting for thirty minutes, Mike has come up with three different ideas of what he does.

He’s a diplomat who works in foreign affairs, in an unhappy marriage for about five years, no children.

He’s a politician from a lesser-known party, advocating the rights for abortion, due to the fact that he once impregnated his girlfriend during high school, and now there’s a random person running around with his DNA.

He’s an accountant who’s a math genius, working faster than the cash register and he appreciates good quality tax returns.

They all seem plausible, yet not plausible enough. 

 _Tell me your secrets_ , Mike thinks, staring at the mysterious man with the birthmark. He should give him a fake name in his head, just so that he has something to call him. He does it for quite a few clients, it’s another one of the games he plays when he gets bored behind the cash. 

_I think I’ll call you … Gabriel. You look a bit like a Gabriel._

Or maybe he can come up with something more creative, like Harrison, or Bartholomew. He doesn’t really know what to call him. He could just call him Whywontyoutellmeyournameyouarrogantasshole, but that seems a bit unfair to assholes. 

Mike checks the clock. He’s still got a bit to go before his break, and then he can sit at a table full of grease and munch on fries he’ll regret eating later, and finish the damn math test. 

He doesn’t understand how some people don’t understand pre-cal. It’s just pre-cal, not even calculus. 

The man from the corner stands up and straightens out his suit before taking a step forward. Honestly Mike doesn’t expect to see him again. The fact that he came twice is kind of mind-blowing. That a man of his class would be in some small, greasy and oily fast food restaurant is beyond him. Besides that, why McDonald’s? He could eat anywhere and he said it himself, he doesn’t trust their food. If he really does need a quick fix, why hasn’t he ordered already?

Mike’s pretty sure that every now and then they serve high standing citizens, but he’s pretty sure they use the drive-thru as to avoid being humiliated.

_Why are you doing here?_

The writer-wanna-be is running his fingers through his hair impatiently. Hit a plot hole, probably. 

The single mother just got a phone call and judging by the way she’s lighting up, it’s probably her new beau.

The college student leans back in his chair and lets out a breath, has probably just finished his paper and is relieved.

Why is everyone so easy to read and yet for Whywontyoutellmeyournameyouarrogantasshole it’s so hard? (Okay yes, Mike said he wouldn’t use that, but just looking at the guy it’s obvious he’s an asshole.)

“Mike! It’s your break, you’ve got fifteen minutes.”

Mike nods and grabs his bag from behind the counter, taking a seat in the back of the restaurant. He takes out his pencil and begins to write.

The test is easy, something he’s pretty sure he would’ve done, had he gone to college. There’s something nostalgic about it, despite the fact that Mike has never really taken a college-level test before. It’s the faint lingering taste of bittersweetness on his tongue, knowing this is something he could’ve done, that he wishes he had done, but it’s too late to go back on his choices now and besides, Gran needs him.

He takes a deep breath and writes.

Everything around him fades into nothingness as he answers question after question. He’s only half-concentrating, he can admit that, but the person who hired him is only a B student, it’s not like it’s all that surprising that he’d get a few wrong. 

He wonders to himself sometimes how he ended up like this. How it’s possible that he showed such promise, according to Gran, yet here he is, at McDonald’s, of all places, helping someone cheat for a test. 

“You going to order anything?”

Mike looks up in surprise and sees Whywontyoutellmeyournameyouasshole standing in front of him, his hands in his pockets. He’s leaning over him and Mike becomes overly-aware of the fact that what he’s doing is not 100% legal. 

Mike covers the paper with his hands, then makes strange arm movements until the paper gets all wrinkled. Shit. He’s going to have to explain that to the client and he probably won’t get as much as he had hoped for it. 

“Excuse me?” Mike says.

“I have it on good authority that if you don’t order, you’re a loiterer.”

“Employee,” Mike says, pointing to his nametag and hideous shirt as if it wasn’t obvious enough. 

“All the same, it’s not fair if you don’t follow guidelines, and I think you stole that woman’s fries,” says the man, nodding towards the single mother that Mike has dutifully named Marie in his mind. “Rules are rules.”

“More like heavily enforced suggestions,” Mike replies. 

_Why are you talking to him? He just saw you cheating!_

_No, wait. You can save this._

“I was studying,” Mike blurts out.

The man raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s what I was doing, before you surprised me,” Mike continues on. He’s a bad liar. This is going to go down the drain. Shit. He should’ve just kept his mouth shut. 

“For what?”

“Pre-cal.” Good, that was the truth. It always makes his mouth taste bad after he lies. This way he doesn’t have to, or at least he’s being slightly truthful. It makes the words come out less tense, he sounds less unbelievable. 

The man continues to stare at him, his brown eyes seeming to pierce through Mike’s soul and see everything he hides. Mike struggles to match his gaze, make sure he doesn’t waver. 

“Break’s over, Mike!”

Mike doesn’t break the man’s gaze, which is a good choice since the man doesn’t stop looking.

“I have to go.”

“I heard.”

“You’re in my way.”

“I know.”

“Will you move?”

The man stares at him intensely, and Mike has to stop himself from gulping. His throat feels dry. Does he know? Can he tell? Can he see through all Mike’s lies? Does he know about the pot in his bag? Does he know about Mike’s intentions to get high once his shift is over?

“Of course,” says the man in a leer. He sidesteps and lets Mike pass him.

Mike brushes against the man’s shoulder with his bag. He’s glad as hell that his bag is zipped up as completely as possible. Pot falling out of his bag is not how you want to encounter a businessman.

* * *

When he gets off shift, there’s a coffee that’s gone cold on the counter. He spots the man as he leaves the store, before closing up his work station, for the next person to use. 

He picks up the cup and stares. He doesn’t know where the man got it from, because to pay for such shitty coffee, he’d have to have asked Mike, but maybe he did it when he went to the bathroom. Either way, just like in Starbucks, a name is written on the cup.

_Harvey._

It suits him.  

Mike takes a sip and winces. The coffee’s still shit.

And now he’s going to have to explain the whole crumpled test answers to his client.

Mike finishes the cup.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The quote Harvey tells Mike is from When Harry Met Sally, and when he says "on the side", it's a joke to how Sally always orders everything on the side. Tell me what you think, if you want to.


End file.
